A New Kind Of PTSD

I awoke last night drenched in sweat, my
Screams soaked with creative cursing. I
Thrashed at some foe not present. (My wife

Sleeps in a bedroom down the hall, for reasons
I care not discuss.) This morning I came to
Realize I was re-enacting the 1415 Battle of

Agincourt. I had read the Wikipedia entry just
Before retiring. My king, Henry V, gave a speech
Rousing us to overcome the vast French numerical

Edge with our new archery gear. Fat chance against
Damascene armor no arrow can breech! I will be killed
Or maimed! I yelled. I will die in a vast lake of blood,

Fighting for this arrogant, pompous, royal ass perched
Sublimely high on his horse, cocooned in the best armor
Our kingdom can provide. I hate our horse-ass king.

He ordered us into battle. Many died, but many more
French. (I think of their wives mourning now.) Mirabile
Dictu! Our new-fangled, high-tech, modern Fifteenth

Century arrows shot from superpower bows pierced their
Armor and we won the day. First time ever missiles won
Over armament. I grieve for my friends who made the

Ultimate sacrifice. I even tried to swat away the flies off
Their bodies last night. I am in total historical shock. I
Suffer from a new kind of battle fatigue. I call it hell.

G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, is Emeritus Professor, Ashford University, Clinton, Iowa. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. He has published poems in a wide array of journals. His books include Leaves Of Maple and Long Dark River Casino Read other articles by G. Louis.